


these quiet motions (my favourite moments)

by emptyskeleton



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, also buck is into yoga, buck goes to theraphy, i just started writing at 3 am forgive me, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyskeleton/pseuds/emptyskeleton
Summary: Buck smiles into his water bottle – the reusable one the whole fire force received from the LAFD, as a result of Chim’s email-bombing about the general lack of sustainable practices in the department – as he chugs down as much fluids as he can. Not even the faint breeze rustling his clothes seems to be able to lift the suffocating veil of heat embracing L.A, but the proximity of his whole family is enough to cool him from the inside out.Or, the whole squad is out at the beach and Buck has time to think.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 146





	these quiet motions (my favourite moments)

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally zero ideas of what this is.  
> Also, this is my first fic ever! I am panicking here: 9-1-1 has been my quarantine/lockdown feel-good show and I am too emotionally attached to these morons to be rational. Enjoy! (or don't! don't feel pressured! life is already hard enough!). Also, this is definetely unbeta'ed and my first language is not English!

It’s well into June, and they’re sitting on the beach next to each other. Actually, the whole extended squad is here. On his right, Karen cradles Nia in her arms, sunlight glistening off her curls as she smiles at Denny and Chris’ weak attempt at a sandcastle. On their side, Athena and Michael are histerically laughing at a joke Bobby must’ve cracked, one that has May and Harry covering their years and side-eyeing all three of their parents with poorly concerned annoyance. Even Harry’s new beau, sits contempt by his partner side, eyes crinkled while he answers the myriad of MCATs related questions Hen throws at him.

Buck smiles into his water bottle – the reusable one the whole fire force received from the LAFD, as a result of Chim’s email-bombing about the general lack of sustainable practices in the department – as he chugs down as much fluids as he can. Not even the faint breeze rustling his clothes seems to be able to lift the suffocating veil of heat embracing L.A, but the proximity of _his whole family_ is enough to cool him from the inside out.

The things is, he’s always been a restless kid - and _God_ , did that make his parents mad. His complete inability to sit still for long, the itching inside, his vaivering focus on homework and anything school related… But, being realistic, even a simple continued bouncing of his leg was known to be enough to turn Mom and Dad sour and transform the evening into a yelling competition. Loud noises, he hated, and he sure was an adaptable kid: so he quickly learnt how to make himself smaller and how to silence his urges, obey orders.

All things considered, the Buckley household had been, in some ways, a great training centre for the Academy. As Frank had explained to him in one of the first sessions they recently had, his excess of control quite obviously had to overflow somewhere else. Turns out that walking into his college dorm for the first time and feeling the invisible cage Hershey held on him finally lifting did the trick. As Buck would put it, were he to write a fancy ass autobiography, ‘ _leaving my name and my sentence behind, I am reborn a new man’._

So, with freedom came sex, and a whole load of it. It always went like this: bodies (never the same); hearts racing; blood pumping into his veins; heat pooling into him. No laws, no boundaries. All of these marvels did, of course, present a certain side-effect: no deeper connections, no one to stay.

But Evan Buckley, now _Buck_ , quickly made friends with the empty side of his bed; even if just enough to know it had to be kept occupied as much as possible. Doesn’t matter by who or for how long, just…busy, full, not empty. If he’s being honest (and with Frank he has to be) he hated with a burning passion the feeling of stretching his fingers a little further alongside the mattress, to find it cold and unmoving. So, he committed to filling that hole – quantity over quality, touch as a currency for some peace of mind.

He chuckles at the memories, now. They feel close and somehow they’re incredibly far: he’s made peace with that part of himself a while ago. Proper therapy has done – and keeps doing - its job.

He understands coping mechanisms, now, and has at last decided to stop investing so much energy in regretting who he once has been.

 _Who we are and who we need to be to survive are very different things_ , he’d heard a character in some television show say once. He has to agree: _Buck 1.0_ had run its course and so had its next version, the first one to know love and a ‘real’ relationship; and all that came with the package. Abby had come and gone and with one final talk on a bench after the rescue of her fiancè, she’d left for good and that was it. No more heartbreak there, just another scar on its path towards full healing. But even her, the only woman he’d ever loved that much and that way, had never calmed his tremors. She had no effect whatsoever on _the jitters_ , the pangs of pain and energy jolting him awake at night – keeping him tossing and turning, never able to settle.

It’s really funny, if he says so himself, that he can only feel his thoughts slow their race down when he’s near the 118. _His pack, his tribe, his people_.

In some unexplainable twist of fate (or was it pure coincidence?), he found them and then he chose them and – somehow, in a way he still cannot fathom – they keep choosing him back. And they stay, through the good and through the bad and also fire trucks pulverizing your legs and tsunamis and the excruciating trail of shedding layers of built-up trauma.

And, well, Buck does not know how to cope with this. After all, his only true precedent is his sister’s blood-given affection. Frank would muse and probably say it’s because, even though he’s made enourmous progress and come a long way from his starting point, he still cannot imagine himself as being worthy of this – this, this overwhelming love and nearness that sometimes feels _too much_. Buck believes his therapist’s words would be something along the lines of _I know you can see it, Buck, but you still won’t let yourself embrace it because you are too afraid to lose it._ And damn right, he _is_ afraid. He’s never even dared to imagine this and it is _so_ close he could reach out and grab it. But his hands have always been _too_ careless, _too_ clumsy and even the most beautiful cristals do turn to dust when held too vigorously.

He’s making baby steps forward, though. Recovery takes a long time, this much he knows. It’s taken him months to re-shape after _the_ _accident_ and Frank assured him the mental side of getting better usually is a longer, harder, and definetely non-linear path.

But he’s willing, and he’s putting the work in. He sometimes still slips, but now there are arms as strong as metal ready to catch him, even though he may not always see them.

The fire within - the one burning at his heels, scorching his insides, the voice drilling _run!_ and _never get attached_! or the evergreen _they will leave! they always do!_ inside his skull – has indeed quieted down. Now, it comes to him in waves: they still torch everything in their way, for they are rare but lethal. But Buck is a _goddamn firefighter, thank you very much_ , and knows his flames well. The 118 is sort of his gear, in the end: everyday, they give him the instruments to just get the nasty job done. They’ve mitigated him to the point he’s finally found the strength to hold back his demons. And if he’s being honest, it was about damn time.

Calm he’s gotten acquainted with, nowadays. He supposes it helped when, a few months back, his sister (his radiant, heavily and so unexpectedly happy _pregnant_ big sister) found this small, family-owned yoga studio. Carved inside the shelter for youth runaways Maddie has started volunteering at while on part-time, it slowly became a place just for him and his thoughts. Maddie had somehow convinced Buck to go with her, that first time, guilt tripping him through her old _i-need-more-family-time_ ways. Stepping into the extremely minimal classroom, all wooden ceilings and natural light and essential oils, Buck had wanted to strangle her: _what was he doing_ , a 6’2 muscular hunk, in the same room with expectant women and shockingly stretchy old people? And yet, on his mat and through his breaths, he’d surprisingly found a place to slow down. He’d count in for six second, hold in the air for the same time, and very slowly release it while learning how to bend his body in countless shapes; feeling freer and a little lighter with each move. So, calm, he’s gotten to know.

But perfect stillness, yeah, that was something he’d never expected to experience. And, funnily enough, he’d never thought he was going to find it right in front of him. He probably should have seen it coming, but he still found himself in the midst of an avalanche without actually realizing it. He supposes it’s only fair: he was never much of a planner.

The day Eddie Diaz joined the squad, Buck would have chocked him to death. Who has this highly recommended, highly decorated, _unbelievably attractive_ new member of the squad - walking in their station as if he owned it? And why had he come to undercut Buck’s status as local firehouse poster boy? It had taken him half a shift to become completely enchanted with Edmundo Diaz, and another few weeks to completely fall in love with his amazing, amazing child. It had started easy like that, with a simple promise to have each other backs, only it had never really stopped.

If only, it had grown exponentially from there, and so had the _thingshefeelsinside_ for his partner.

Buck finds it hilarious, if a little bitter, while his fingers lightly caress Christopher’s hair. While he was lost in thought, the sunrays reddening his skin, the smaller Diaz has found his way into his lap, limbs sprawled everywhere and a terribly sleepy expression on his face while he absolutely butchers the _Peppa Pig_ theme song (this kid has many talents, but _oh boy!_ Singing sure is not one of them.)

One could say it’s really ironic that Buck, whose face would have appeared under the ‘ladies man’ lemma in the dictionary just a few years back, has fallen – no, not fallen, he literally jumped head first – for someone like Eddie. Sharp edges and toned muscles, a deathly cocktail of quiet rage and brutal selflessness: so very far from his usual catches. But after all, he guesses, it was sort of inevitable.

Eddie sees him, pure and simple, and it’s been this way since day one. No superstructures, no masks. He cuts through him and he doesn’t run away. He sees him and he stays close. He sees him and he calls out his name and his bullshit and he tells the truth and he phones every night before bed and he’s always _there, there, there._

Buck is the closest version to the person he aspires to be when they are together, and it makes him want to face all the challenges the world will throw their way head first. He’d do it all for this man, even walk away if asked. Even if it’d break him for good.

_‘Hey!’_

Buck looks up to meet his eyes with the ease he always says _yes, Eddie_ with and there he is, half stretched out on a towel, next to a wildy gesturing Chim recounting Harry their latest rescue. ‘ _Where did you go_?’ Eddie mouths, his full lips slightly chapped from sea salt. They curve upwards as he glances at Buck’s hands, thoughtlessly stroking his son’s forehead. It’s indeed one of his private smiles, the ones that reverberate in Buck’s mind for hours at once. ‘ _I think I lost you for a minute, there.’_

 _You’d never lose me_ , is what flashes instantly at the back of Buck’s head. He hums back, squinting his eyes at the blinding light.

_‘Just thinking’._

He pauses just for a second, instinctively shifting closer without wanting to wake a drowsy Chris. Their bodies are almost touching and that’s enough to enable Eddie’s pull to work its magic. Buck’s breathing evens out and his once scattered thoughts start gliding together – grinding against the laws of chaos.

‘ _Hey’_ Eddie breathes, and Buck is _so, so_ aware of how incredibly close he is sitting. The buzzing static sound in his years shuts off as he effortlessly tunes into Eddie.

This man! The sun and the moon and every single molecule in his galaxy.

 _‘Don’t go where I can’t follow, okay?’_ he hears him murmur, softly.

‘ _You know what? I don’t think I’m going anywhere anytime soon’_ Buck whispers back. He hopes Eddie reads the _every cell of my being is in love with you_ that is implied. ‘ _Don’t wanna risk waking the prince up_ ’ he adds, and he hopes it sounds like _you two are what i’ll only ever need, if you’ll have me._

Eddie smiles back ‘ _Good. I think we’ll keep you. You may come in handy. You know, strong body perks and all that’_ he drawls out, taking a swig of water from Buck’s bottle, their hands meeting halfway. This is all that ever matters, Buck reflects. He looks at the man he loves next to him, inhales, and he _knows it._ He knows it the same way he knows how to breathe. ' _You’re gonna be okay, kid_ 'Chris had once said to him.

It's well into June, they're next to each other on the beach and Buck thinks he believes that. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you ever wanna talk, you can find me at aevanbuckley @ tumblr! (be advised, my blog is a mess and no i don't have the energy to fix it). Also, title is from mxmtoon 'Quiet motions', which has been stuck in my head for the past 72 hours.


End file.
